A Dental Dilemma
by elfmaiden4legs
Summary: ****Drake has a tooth ache, but is too proud to admit it. Will Jackson be able to help him?


**A Dental Dilemma**

Drake held a hand to his cheek in order to try and stem the throbbing pain in his swollen gum. He ran his tongue across the surface of the cracked molar and tried to ignore the sharp surge of pain this produced. He'd received the blow which had caused the damage nearly a week since but hadn't had the courage to tell anyone about it and he'd already developed a swelling which oozed infection, and had barred him from eating and drinking for the past few days. He'd watched longingly from his desk as he'd observed Jackson's comings and goings from Reid's office all day, but he'd sooner lose all his teeth to a mouthful of infection he'd told himself than admit to any sort of weakness to the Yankee doctor.

Instead he'd tried to absorb himself in work, and to forget about the ache in his cheek and the explosive pressure of the infection building up just below the gum line, he'd tried to focus on reading, and signing off and filing reports, but all with very little success, and before long he'd found himself out of his chair, and making his way in the direction of the mortuary, despite his better judgement.

Drake didn't knock but, hand still clasped tightly to his injured face, entered without announcement and was relieved to find Jackson not in the middle of an autopsy, but instead writing up a report – the Sergeant hadn't fancied washing his own mouth out with a dead man's blood.

He coughed weakly to announce his presence to the American doctor, and as Jackson turned to look up from his desk he observed his visitor with an amused and slightly crooked smile.

"Well Sergeant Drake..." He drawled in his thick American accent. "To what do I owe this honour?"

"No sarcastic hurts please Jackson." Drake implored, and held up a hand in order to try and silence him. "I need your help."

Jackson took one look at the man standing before him, at the hand clutching tightly to the one side of his face, at the pallor of his complexion and the contrasting flush of his cheeks, and his hair plastered to his forehead with a sweat indicative of a slight fever, and appeared to soften slightly.

He nodded, handing Drake a small vial of opiate from which the Sergeant took a grateful swig in order to try and kill the pain.

"I'll see what I can do for you." Jackson finally agreed.

He indicated to the Sergeant to sit, and reluctantly Drake found himself then seated in the doctor's own chair.

**RIPPERSTREET**

Half an hour later the Sergeant found himself spitting blood as he swigged from a tankard of water Jackson had handed him. The opiate had for the moment taken the edge off his pain, but his gum still throbbed viciously, and in the minutes the doctor had spend examining the extent of his swollen mouth there had been very little indication that there was anything more he could do.

"You've left that tooth too long Sergeant." He explained gravely, as he did his best to clean what he could of the wound without causing the other man too much unnecessarily additional suffering. "There's an abscess and a serious infection which could spread to your blood if you're not careful."

"Can't you just remove it?" Drake asked, whilst wiping the dribble from his chin with the back of his hand, but Jackson shook his head.

"As much as I'd like to," he chuckled to himself good naturedly, "I don't have the required equipment. I'm afraid this is going to need a specialist's care in order to deal with the infection properly. You need to find yourself a dentist Sergeant."

Drake sighed, this was exactly the situation he'd been hoping to avoid, and Jackson eyed him critically.

"In the meantime I can do my best to treat the pain, and minimise the spread of the infection." He offered, observing the apprehension in the other man's eyes. "That might at least help to make you feel a little more comfortable whilst you decide what to do."

Drake considered Jackson's suggestion suspiciously. What could the American possibly have to gain by offering him help he wondered? The two men hadn't exactly made a secret of their dislike for each other in the past.

He sat, starring up at Jackson, the two men's eyes boring into each other, as both of them waited for the other to back down. This might have in fact gone on forever had it not been for another stab of pain which at that moment shot through the Sergeant's jaw, and which finally made him relent.

He nodded reluctantly.

"Good. I'll write you up a prescription." Jackson conceded, and with that turned his back on the Sergeant and began to write up the note.


End file.
